One Spring Day
by Dreamslippers
Summary: A look at the Duchy of Rosanne a year post-Grima. Written for Tare L Soda.


**One Spring Day**

The cool mountain breeze raced across the mountainside. It flowed down through the sudden drops and swells of verdant stone as blooming alpenrose imparted her scent unto the cold ether.

A pair of wyverns found their way to its path, it bore their wings before the next beat sends it further down the valley.

Down it went, down through rock and sky 'til finally, the looming tree line broke its momentum. The sighing wind ruffling the forest's coat of leaves and branches.

At last it brushes through a mop of unruly hair of a young man in leather with a longsword strapped to his side. His lithe yet defined limbs were drenched in sweat as the man pauses, cramped hands stretching one after another along the handle of his axe.

All around him were the sounds of chops and creaks of the wood cutters doing their work on the other areas of the forest. Everyone here was doing their part in gathering material for the rebuilding of the duchy just down the river.

Stahl rests the axe in his shoulders as he breathes it all in, reminding him how the air here was so much different than in Ylisse's. It's been almost a year since the defeat of Grima and the efforts of reconstructing the duchy of Rosanne were well underway.

He finds his thoughts drifting of the day he and Cherche first did the Army's laundry together. It only served to deepen the flush on his wet cheeks.

Sometimes, he wonders, hefting the axe back to position (Vaike's insistent voice yammering at his other ear as he did so)- if all of this were a dream.

Too good to be true. The axe sings as blade bites through tough alpine wood.

Survived two wars, not counting the final campaign against the Fell Dragon himself. Another chunk of wood broke off the trunk.

Look at him! The Shepard's. Thunk!

Most. Thunk!

Average. Thunk!

Guy. Thunk!

Alive. Thunk!

And Married. Crack!

Who would've known?

The broad head of a bay horse tackled him to the ground before the falling tree could graze his shoulders.

The draft horse brayed, her iron shod hooves gingerly pawed at his chest before her snout descended on the man's face.

Stahl's hands rose in protest "Alright! Alright! Est that's enough! I'm fine. Erghh"

Est's thick tongue lapped at what grass and dirt clung to his tangled hair. The knight struggled to a crouch before the draft horse's ministrations. One of his hands clutching the fallen log as a crutch to help him stand up.

"Minerva, it seems that this horse has taken a liking to my husband." A woman in riding furs alighted from a black wyvern. Her long crimson hair was kept neatly in place with an ornate headband of white embroidered cloth and metal, together resembling the outstretched wings of a wyvern.

Minerva levelled a baleful glare at the bay horse before chuffing a low pitched growl.

Est snorted in response.

"Yes, I know you like Abel more. But it wouldn't do for a war charger as him to haul the heavy loads this one does."

"Cherche! Est saved my life." The young man thumbed the fallen log he now sat on.

"Really now?" Cherche blinked eyes wide with surprise, before noticing the fallen log beside him.

"Then please, accept my sincere thanks and apologies." Her hand reached out to rub the equine snout. Est whinnied in pleasure.

The crimson wyvernrider then turned to face her husband. Hands on her hips.

"Stahl! It hasn't been that long after your last battle!" To think a falling tree would have killed you..."

The young man stood, putting the axe down on the log before embracing his wife.

He thinks of his, (no _their_) ring shining in the noon light, almost like a star among the shadow of the trees.

"Then... maybe you can show this mediocre warrior how it's done after we gather some wood?"

Cherche's cheeks blossomed in crimson. "Someone's learned a few tricks from the local lord."

The young knight shook his head. "Oh no, I learned this one from a cute wyvern rider years ago." He could almost hear Lord Virion screeching his approval in the background.

Nope, no interruptions please.

Tilted lips met in the silhouette of forest spring. She smelled of milk, honey, and alpenrose. He was of musk, of earthy, wood sap. Passion burned bright as his gloved hands caressed pale skin of her jaw line, laughing as her wandering lips nibbled on the shadow of subtle on his chin.

He swears, is his wife the only one teaching or is Minerva doing the same thing with Cherche?

A squabbling cry broke out from the direction of the wyvern. Minerva barked a series of sharp vocalizations.

Cherche smiled as she leaned on Stahl. "I know. I know. I'll be there girl." She laughed pointing at her husband's chest. "And you need to haul more wood."

Stahl grins. "Maybe later then."

Laughing she went back to Minerva, a furry bundle strapped securely unto Minerva's main harness held their son Rome- named after his own older travelling counterpart. He squirmed as Cherche held him close.

"Problems again little man?" She fiddles her son's cute small nose. The baby babbled happily, chubby hands trying to catch his mother's hands to bring to his mouth.

"Hmm... Hungry again I see."

She sighs "Minerva, the nursing circle please."

The black wyvern grunts as she encircles mother and son within her large frame and wings. Cherche sits upon her wyvern's sides as she coils around them in a rough ring, her wyvern body heat keeping them both warm while providing privacy for Cherche's maternity duties.

Stahl turns back to the pile of fallen logs, wondering where was his other son. He was supposed to be here before the sun could reach its apex.

There was a bellowing shriek as another wyvern flew over the tree line. Gerome stretched his hand out in greeting, his crimson hair fluttering in the spring winds. These days he wore no mask, his dark eyes were bare to the world.

Stahl wonders where exactly did Gerome get the mask habit. But he digresses, the young man was here and that's all that mattered.

Folded heavy logging chains of steel dropped nearby the log piles as the red wyvern touched down.

"Sorry for the delay Stahl, the smithy had to forge some of the new chain from scrap after most of the old ones were given to the shipyards in the east. And Genarog here.." The red wyvern shoved his face to the male wyvernrider. A series of clipped pitched sounds emerged from his scaly throat. "Opted to take the scenic route around the valley." Gerome shrugs, his furred tunic rippling at the motion.

"Couldn't blame him, Minervykins had her first clutch of fertile eggs in her den last night."

"Eggs? How many? Size and shape?" Came Cherche's voice from within a coiled Minerva.

"3 All fist sized and ovoid. Yes mother, they are all warm with opaque shadows under the wyvern fire."

"Hear that girl? You're an aunt now." Minerva shrieks a high note. The black wyvern follows it with a curious series of growls ending in a low whistle that captures the attention of Genarog.

Gerome's brows arched as Cherche laughs from within the wyvern. "Hmm, maybe... can you even share? You guys always seem to compete with everything."

Stahl taps his son on the shoulder.

"So! Care to help this old man with the logs?"

A shadow of a smile crept up Gerome face. "You're not _that_ old... Father."

* * *

The last of the packed logs were being pulled by a team of draft horses with Est at the front. Men encouraged their horses to pull the load through the last stretch of the cresting hill. They had all cheered as they reached the top.

There they unloaded the prepared and marked logs from their carriage and chains before letting them roll down the hill and to the river. Eventually, they'll be picked downstream by the logging mill and the builders will have their lumber.

Stahl pats Est as she fed her oats and water, giving her a well needed rest before turning back for the road to Rosanne. The other men slowly dispersed with laugh and smiles; each taking with him his horses and their gear till only Stahl and Est remained. The sun was setting atop the western mountains now, but he did not mind. No ordinary monster could threaten a veteran of Ylisse.

That and he also waited for his wife and son to finish one last job.

The wyvernriders carried with them the sacks of acorns, cones, and seeds to spread across the woodland they had cut down. Eventually years from now, giant trees will once again dominate this area. What they took, they must give back.

A throaty shriek from Minerva heralded the last leg of their journey home.

* * *

Gerome had split earlier at the junction of the river. Both he and Genarog flew up the steep crags heading towards the Elder Minerva's den. A part of Cherche worries for him. But she knew Gerome's old enough to take care of himself.

It was not her place to force him to conform to society; and the horrors the male wyvernrider had experienced would never leave him. She knows because own memories of Walhart's occupation and of Grima wouldn't for hers. But she likes to think that the new memories she'll make with her friends and family would overcome those haunting her.

Cherche smiles as she sees her infant son gurgling in delight at the dips and rise of wyvern flight.

Ah, this is what freedom really is! Nothing but air separating you from the hard soil below.

She checks the straps holding the harnesses together before taping Minerva with her heels. She then folds her legs back before leaning slightly forward and ahead, her form following the natural curve of Minerva's back. Hands that used to carry her longaxe wiggled her son's abdomen before placing them beside him for a bracing form.

"Let's show papa the need for speed now, won't you my little one?"

The wyvern descends, slowly at first but quickly picking up speed. A series of short flaps cleared what turbulence was in the air as the wyvern fought the pull of gravity whilst leveraging and gaining speed.

Down below Stahl whoops as he edges Est on from a quick trot to a canter, then to full gallop. He knows he could not hope to best Minerva with Abel, even more so when he's only riding his charger's mare.

But he'll try anyway.

Minerva's wings beats the air a few more times before her holding them at an angle, her snout tilting even further down towards the ground. The resulting burst of speed and wind whipped Cherche's crimson hair, the fading day's light brushing them into a fiery halo behind her. The wyvern held her dive before breaking; the fine tips of her wings scraping air gradually before settling into a glide.

And then her wings catches the next thermal to send them all floating up into the blue! All the while little Rome squealed in delight, his fur laden hands reaching out- trying to grasp the falling strands of his mother's flaming hair.

Below them, the river wounded this way and that. It eventually crossed rough hilly forest land that gave way to rolling fields with their various produce now bleached in twilight's colour. A brief turn of a head on wyvernback saw pastureland; where the sheep, horse and ox grazed. The faint shadow (and a heralding shriek) of Minerva spooking them as she flew pass.

Cherche waved back after seeing the people take notice of their prodigal daughter. Hands and lanterns raised in honour, banishing her memory of thrown spears, bows and arrows.

Some remnants of the war marred the land still. There were houses gutted and if one looks there, parts of the wall lay in rubble.

Ahead was the temple where she once trained as a cleric. Most of the roof has been repaired, yet upon its walls bore signs of where magic and stone once blew through the grand structure- all just to get to the huddled townspeople within. Cherche closed her eyes.

But for all the tragedy this town has experienced, not one whit of it was reflected on the townsfolk who held lit their lamps as they gathered towards the festive grounds of Virion Manor.

Cherche alighted just as Virion finished the first dance with his wife Olivia, to the applause of the crowd.

"My dearest friend! You've arrived just in time!" Virion looks around to her side. "I take it good Gerome is not coming? It is the anniversary of our return."

"You know him Virion, he's not used to all of this" She gestures to the celebration all around her.

"A shame... I might know of a lady or two who might cheer his mood."

"Virion, I do love you dearly. But just sending a man to a woman will not necessarily make him happy." Olivia's lithe frame saunters over to them. Valmese clothing suited her, as with most outfits she had worn over the course of her travelling days as a dancer of renown.

Even if she is round with child.

The healers have told them to expect the birth at the last months of summer. Cherche wishes them the best. It has been hard enough even with Minerva on duty. She strokes little Rome through the bundle now harnessed to her furs. Her entire flight outfit (thanks to one of the Annas) was fashionable enough to pass for this grand soirée.

The former comrades in arms walk, catching up news of the day. Each of them wonders at the many improvements the duchy has undergone since their first arrival a year ago. Of course the topics strayed to the news of their friends scattered throughout the world.

A disgruntled (but better dressed) Stahl huffed his way to them curtsying (as a proper knight should) to the duke and duchess before taking Cherche's hand in his and excusing themselves from their esteemed company. He wore his colours of green and white, the wind-rippled fabric of his mantle revealed the embroidered vines tastefully climbing across his mantle.

He kissed his sleeping son before pecking the crimson wyvernrider on her cheek. Both whispering sweet nothings to each other.

The Olivia clapped her hands for a servant, whispered a few words before letting him go. A secret smile playing on her lips as she held her husband's arms.

A short pause as followed as the playing band stilled.

Then came the warm tones of a lone grand piano. A mellifluous accordion soon accompanied it.

The crowds parted for space.

Couples paired up to dance.

"You hear that?" Cherche grins.

"They're playing our song." wonders Stahl.

He steps back, just as his right arm flourishes.

"Shall we dance?"

Alpenrose kissed them both as they swayed under the dreaming moonlight.

* * *

Notes:

This was written as a prompt- 'reconstruction of Rosanne with Stahl and Cherche" from Tare L Soda. Thanks for putting up the many questions and for brainstorming the setting. It has been fun to write this all down!

And this technically is a part of _your_ epilogue. :)

If anyone's wondering, that's the opening tunes of Id (Serenity) playing at the end.


End file.
